GRANGER at Halloween for 10/26/16: THE TEAR IN THE WRAPPER

Truth in advertising“, it read.

Image result for coffee and Autumn

Granger was fed up with the glut of political flyers in his mailbox and inboxes.  Tossing on his desk the garishly colored hit piece in yoga pants by a former state senator, he swung around and gazed unfocused out the window at a grayish, cotton-streaked sky with bruise-blue accents.  Chuffing through his nose, he thought, “Even the sky’s puzzled by it all.”

Bemused, he reached for his “Coffee Made Me Do It” mug.  Just before he got it to his mouth, he noticed the “fun-size” Butterfinger laying on his desk; it had been hidden by the big black mug.  Glancing over at the glass bowl full of assorted Halloween-sized candy, he saw many other bars identical to the one huddled behind his coffee.  You won’t get away from me-e-e . . .

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Amused at the desire-borne moisture in his mouth, he glommed onto the familiar yellow-orange-gold wrapper.  Granger actually licked his lips as he tore the wrapper lengthwise.

Opening the wrapper, he grimaced in disgust.  Really?  Instead of the neat, compact one-by-two-inch chocolate-covered nougat he expected to find, a sharded mess of odd-shaped pieces had fallen onto his black crew-neck tee and khaki pants.

Irritated, he started to grouse about something more to clean up when he suddenly got quiet.

I know people like that, he reasoned.  Brightly packaged, looking like others in The Bowl, like they’ve got it all together–until the wrapper comes off.  Unwrapped, they’re a ragged, jagged collection of misshapen pieces just waiting to fall all over the place.

Yeah, I know people like that.  I’ve been like that.

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As these thoughts jostled each other in his mind, he glanced again at the phrase off the discarded voting flyer:  “Truth In Advertising”.

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Granger’s eyes blurred and his voice thickened as he spoke aloud, a habit of those who spend most of their time alone.  “Oh, yeah.  Many’s the time that, had my wrapper torn, all my hidden insecurities, my personal misgivings, self-doubt, all those questions about myself would be laying all over in a huge, untidy mess just like–here he made a rueful face as he surveyed the slightly-sticky, sweet mess he’d dumped on his clothes– “my ill-fated little candy bar buddy, may it rest in pieces.”

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Later, wearing a comfortable black-and-red shirt with the sleeves rolled half up and a soft pair of old jeans, he stood with mug in left hand and coffee carafe in right, thinking about the recent experience.  Shaking his head as if to wake up, Granger poured a fresh, fragrant cup of Community Golden Caramel, returned to his desk chair and sat pondering.

Is it wrong to present a public appearance that’s attractive, appropriate to one’s task?  Does that not reflect good self-image and -respect?

Is it deceptive to present an outward persona that’s positive and uplifting, even when one’s interior landscape more resembles a barren wasteland?  As a Christ-follower, isn’t being winsome and attractive kind of necessary?

Sipping thoughtfully at the semi-sweet, smooth coffee, he answered his own question.

Deception is willful.  Wearing a mask is intended to hide, to frustrate and conceal.  If those are the reasons for the wrapper, then the advertising is dishonest and disingenuous.

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Image result for Christ Like spirit despite internal pain

If one’s desire is to be a consistent positive, encouraging and Christlike witness to one’s own world, then God can be trusted to know how to tenderly deal with the internal brokenness.  To fit the nonfitting.  To create beauty and symmetry just as perfectly as He did at The Original Event.

Rising to refill his mug, Granger thoughtfully nabbed another of the sweet, chocolaty morsels from the Halloween bowl.  Grinning as he softly checked that this one was whole, he admitted to himself, I don’t have this here “for the kids” since none ever come up here.  I have this here for me.  And I’m lovin’ it!


© D. Dean Boone, October 2016


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Waiting on God is not for weanies.

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No personal, private details.  Most are just curious.

At present, we are living on my disability and my wife’s unemployment.  Two months ago, her boss gave her the grim news:  the company let 18 people go.  Though the CFO had personally promised otherwise, she was one.

They were moving too fast, making too many deals to pay attention to how good she really is.  It makes no diff that you’re at the top of your game when the boss is playing from a different rulebook.  At the nexus where experience, wisdom, work ethic and expertise meet age, they opted for cheap.

No.  We didn’t run right out and whine.  We did reach out to a few praying friends whose discretion we trust.  Neither of us do pity well, and we’ve been against the financial wall before.  Almost dying several times is expensive.  We lived in a couple of places homeless people might shun.  It hurts a man and woman to ask their kids to live that way.

It hurts a man and woman.  The dad and the mom.  In differing ways

It hurts.

God’s wakened me in the wee hours to pray.  Sometimes He reveals for whom; mostly not.   He’s done it often enough that I think I’ve responded every time by sending an anonymous “I-got-your-back” post out on Facebook.  Needlessly embarrassing anyone never has been my style.  Private Messaging is the place for personal stuff.  Right?

If I’ve exceled at anything, it’s in working to become a champion encourager.  I know God’s faithful.  He knows where the help is needed and how best to apply it.  Others for whom He’s come through in response to praying friends’ intercession have told me those stories.  This time would be no different just because we were the ones, O Lord, standin’ in the need of prayer.  I knew some praying spirit warriors would stop and make time to remember me, writing me some encouragement that was personal.

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One has left brief notes they’re praying.  One included an article that gave me two additions to my quotation file.

 The most important thing is to acknowledge pain. It’s gonna hurt, and that’s okay. Denying or ignoring hurt only prolongs it.

“Allow yourself to feel everything you’re feeling right now,” she told me. “Let the hurt move through you. Then you can move on.”

Introverts don’t do well with that . . .   Disabled ones do even worse.

  • Trying to build up courage to speak to a friend about work possibilities, only to have another walk up, engage the friend in lively conversation including sharing pictures, excluding me as if not present . . .
  • Gingerly sending email messages to another two who might know of work possibilities, only to have them both, from our perspective, either unread or ignored.
  • Knowing those who’ll read this all live far away and can do nothing, despite locals who say, “Oh, you’re a gifted writer.”

It hurts.  Okay?

That’s as far as I go today, acknowledging pain and letting the hurt move on.

And it won’t rain always
The clouds will soon be gone
The sun that they’ve been hiding has been there all along

And it won’t rain always
God’s promises are true
The sun’s gonna shine in His own good time
And He will see you through

Read more: 

Our amazing neighbor recently died, and I’ve been focusing on helping clean her house for an estate sale, cleaning and organizing her garage, and keeping her yards looking nice.

My way of dealing with personal hurt has always been deflection.  Look for another who could use some encouragement.  Ease their burden and make them smile.

The first one’s a slam-dunk.  I’m working on the second one.  This is longer than intended; thanks for taking the time to read after me.  Bouncing (okay, dragging) back in 3 . . .   2 . . .   1 . . .

Loving you,


© D. Dean Boone, April 2017

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We used to find stuff as we walked.  Pennies.  Marbles.  Broken yo-yos.  Old newspapers.  Chipped golf balls.  You get the idea.  Pour yourself a refill and walk with me . . .

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Writers’ minds rarely rest.  They’re too uber-occupied by wresting phrases.  Or wrestling with preppy-sitions.  I’m forever finding stuff, dutifully noted in one or the other of my notebooks.  I’d say jotted, but they’re not jotbooks.  Even notebooks have their pride.

Follows, then, a random collection of such stuff I’ve collected from alongside life’s curb.  I’ll not embellish nor brush them off much, for any one could become a full-fledged stroll or QTM at a later date.

I’m considering a title about Congress:  A PRIDE OF LYIN’S.

Inside every person you know is a person you don’t know.

Do you understand the difference between ideological enemies and ideological opponents?  There’s a big difference between losing a political debate and losing one’s life.  Given what’s happening in our world – and nation – right now, the stage could easily be set for the former to team up with the latter long enough to destroy their opposition.  Then the former could more easily absorb or eliminate the latter.  It’s been done.  Only the supremely arrogant or breathtakingly simple would think it impossible.

When one door closes, you might want to grab a hammer and nails to be real sure that puppy stays shut.

So I sent that site some information on my family tree.  They sent me back a package of seeds and suggested I just start over.

Yeah, no.  I don’t take orders.  I barely take suggestions.

The toughest part of being vegan is having to get up at 4 AM to milk all those almonds.

Image result for writers gifI don’t think I get enough credit for the fact that I do all this unmedicated.

By the way, girls — wearing high heels is not attractive if you walk like a newborn calf.  Just sayin’.

Ever check out and think of some of the people you dated or wanted to date in high school . . .  And see them now on Facebook, let out a slow breath and think, “Thanks, God.  That was close!”?

“Love” can encompass deception, even self-deception, in the desire to get one’s way.

I’m unsure in this life that we ever get the full story.

So there’s this weird thing going on at work where there are names on all the food.  Just yesterday I had a tuna salad sandwhich named Charisse.  Image result for GIF Crazy Writers

COFFEE:  so you can hear corners and see Time.

from Ursula LeGuin – “I’d rather follow a narrative than a thought.”

“terminal inattention’ – the loss of interest in a person or their work after their death.

“Do me a favor – take off the mask when you’re speaking to me.”  “Let’s say I do.  How do I know I’m not talking to one?”

An old woman on a bus:  “I wish you privation and want so you learn to appreciate what you’ve never had to do without – what someone else has always provided for you.”

Scanning everyone walking around you, almost all are laser-focused on their smartphone – either reading, texting or listening through earbuds of one sort or another.  Try to stay away from them because it’s highly contagious.

Instead, watch for the few, the smart, the alert who are walking along with eyes up, observing people and things around them.  Stick with those few.  Listen.  It’s along those aural and verbal curbs you’ll find the most wonderful stuff.

© D. Dean Boone, April 2017

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100-Word Stroll for 4/25/17: ASPIRING TO BE TIRED.

I never thought I’d consider looking up toward ‘tired’ a blessing.  A couple of you reading this know what I mean.  Grab your coffee and . . .  Here.  Sit down with me.

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‘Morning Rhythms’ is a concept I embrace.  Part of mine is to open my arms, raise my open hands, and ask God, “Of all the things orbiting in my mind, what are YOU wanting to write through me today?”

Listening . . .

A few minutes later, this prodded me.  I’m including it, sending with it my prayer for some soul-rest for you.  If you need an ear, it’s what I do.  I’m at

for the one who is tired

Dear heart, God does not say
today, “Be strong!”
He knows
your strength is spent;
He knows how long the road
has been,
how weary you have grown;
for He walked the earthly
roads alone,
each bogging lowland and
each long, steep hill He can
and so He says, “Be still and
know that I am God.” The hour
is late and you must rest a
and you must wait until life’s
empty reservoirs
fill up
as slow rain fills an empty,
upturned cup.
Hold up your cup, dear child,
for God to fill.
He only asks today that you
be still.
Grace Noll Crowell
Today I’m thinking of and praying for you, my friend.



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2nd Cup of Coffee, 4/24/17: WHADDYA DO WITH A CLUELESS “Z-ER”?

I admit it:  the title is barbed.  I know clueless Z-ers won’t read this blog because they don’t read much of anything.  I also know some very smart pathfinders will.

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I believe there are tens of thousands of young American bipeds who should be labeled CONFUSED.  Though of the age we used to term “accountable”, they’ve been taught to

  • ignore absolutes, especially moral ones.
  • ignore their created gender, which is rough since there are a total of two.
  • never think for themselves, and suspect any who suggest otherwise.
  • believe themselves incapable of independent living and self-direction.

Taken as a whole, they’re the most unpalatable, undisciplined, self-absorbed, dependent, pampered, feckless generation of kids America’s yet produced.  We’ve all seen the noxious results of parents letting their offspring “choose for themselves”.  Can you say, “tantrum-and-toy-throwing-3-year-old-in-Walmart”?  I believe this is the first time we’ve seen the disgusting mayhem in the garbage-strewn wake of an entire generation having been thus allowed.

No social graces, no sense of style, no self-esteem.  Zero respect for authority, zero awareness of anything or anyone’s value, zero appreciation of work ethic.  Common sense?  Pride in appearance?  Understandable speech patterns?  Ability to write, to take direction?  Understanding of delayed gratification?  You’re kidding me, right?

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Bill could have been one of them.  He grew up envying poor people.  He came of age very early, getting by on tossed-out leftovers.  Bill went barefoot until he found he could get shoes from garbage cans.  Even if the soles were gone, he’d use string to tie the shoe tops on his feet so it would look like he was wearing shoes.  Respectable.  Uptown.

Bill could have used any or all of the excuses we hear for joining gangs.  It never happened.  That kid had some goals.  He had it in mind to be and do better.  He knew sitting and whining would get him nowhere.

I sat and listened to him tell me his story as he scanned the polished halls of his city’s middle school, where he was the guidance counselor.  He’d worked hard in school and after, taking any and every job he could find.  Graduating with honors, Bill went through the incredible, specialized training to become an Army Green Beret, serving with distinction in various world hotspots.

Retiring, he came back home to walk the streets the bottoms of his feet knew well.  He wanted to give yet more back to those coming up behind him.  Finding every possible way to do that, Bill became

  • worship leader in his church, his massive baritone heralding hope and challenge to the youth in the school who were drawn to him like a bunch of washers to a strong magnet. 
  • the head of the school’s detention program.
  • active in the school’s vocal music program, encouraging and sometimes even adding a baritone or bass part to their efforts in concert when needed. 
  • a mentor to countless troubled teens growing up on the same hard, hardened streets that were his early home.  Bill King was one tough dude, as more than one hulking kid found out – yet to a person they knew his high standards for them was because he loved them enough to help them become men and women able to make their own way in the world.

Point?  Z-ers are NOT destined to be the mindless lemmings too many of their lazy, manipulative teachers have convinced them they must be.  NOT destined to be lab samples dropped into the social-experiment petri dishes of the elders they were told they could trust.

Bill had a weekly group session with boys – young men – off the same streets where he’d eaten.  To every one of them, he gave this Edgar A. Guest poem.  It was a favorite of George Washington Carver, one of Bill’s teen idols.  Bill made every one of those boys memorize this.  Before they could get their completion certificate of his counseling course, they had to stand and recite it.  Some of those men still have their certificates.


Figure it out for yourself, my lad.
You’ve all that the greatest men have had;
Two arms, to hands, two legs, two eyes,
And a brain to use if you would be wise.
With this equipment they all began.
So start for the top and say, “I can.”

Look them over, the wise and great–
They take their food from a common plate
and similar forks and knives they use.
With similar laces they tie their shoes.
The world considers them brave and smart,
But you’ve all they had when they made their start.

You can triumph and come to skill;
You can be great if you only will.
you’re well equipped for what fight you choose:
You have legs and arms and a brain to use,
And the man who has risen great deeds to do
Began his life with no more than you.

You are the handicap you must face.
You are the one who must choose your place.
You must say where you want to go,
how much you will study, the truth to know.
God has equipped you for life, but He
lets you decide what you want to be.

Courage must come from the soul within.
The man must furnish the will to win!
So figure it out for yourself, my lad:
You were born with all that the great have had;
With your equipment they all began.
Get hold of yourself and say, “I can.”

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Image result for george washington carver

Poem recited by Dr. George Washington Carver during his commencement address at Selma University, Selma Alabama on May 27, 1942.  From Collected Verse of Edgar Guest
NY:  Buccaneer Books, 1976, pg. 666

Are you a “Z-er” hunting answers beyond the baby food you’ve been offered?  Are you a pathfinder?  Maybe an “X-er” or another concerned adult wondering what to do with the “Z-ers” paddling around in the wading pool of life?

Read this often.  Be encouraged:  no matter what challenges you’re facing, YOU CAN OVERCOME THEM.  Bill King did, and I doubt you’ve had to fight your way through the junk he did.  Be a champion encourager of those coming along behind you, like Bill.  Refuse to let yourself major on minors.  Keep the main thing – your personal goals, your dream – the main thing.  Do first things first.

And always remember:  I love you, and I believe in you.

© D. Dean Boone, April 2017

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Coffee - Habit1Don’t force a fit.  Not only will the piece not fit right; it won’t fit where it belongs, either.  If something is meant to be, it will come together.

When things aren’t going so well, take a break.  Things will look different when you return.

Be sure to look at the big picture.  Getting hung up on all the little pieces only makes you frustrated.

Perseverance pays off.  Every important puzzle went together bit by bit, piece by piece.

When one spot isn’t working, move to another.  Coming at something from another angle often reveals new pieces you weren’t noticing before.  You can then come back to the first one.

The creator of the puzzle always offers you the picture as a guide. 

Variety spices up life.  It’s the different colors and patterns that make the puzzle interesting.  Nobody enjoys the same thing all the time.

Establish the border first.  Boundaries give a sense of order and reason to any puzzle.  They’re there for a reason.

Don’t be afraid to try different combinations.  Some matches are surprising.

Take time to celebrate your successes – even little ones.  Sit back and enjoy a good cup of java.

Anything worth doing takes time, effort and patience.  A great puzzle can’t be rushed.

     —from the 2nd Cup of Coffee files

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Image result for coffee and god

That’s the point.  I use “The Message” version of the Bible mostly because it’s so readable.  Some have been curious, so I’m including some of it today without editorial comment.

Yes, I went there.  “Without editorial comment.”


God, the one and only —–  I’ll wait as long as he says.  Everything I need comes from him, so why not?  He’s solid rock under my feet, breathing room for my soul, an impregnable castle:  I’m set for life.

“How long will you gang up on me?  How long will you run with the bullies?  There’s nothing to you, any of you —–  rotten floorboards, worm-eaten rafters, anthills plotting to bring down mountains, far gone in make-believe.  You talk a good line, but every “blessing” breathes a curse.

God, the one and only —–  I’ll wait as long as he says.  Everything I need comes from him, so why not?  He’s solid rock under my feet, breathing room for my soul, an impregnable castle:  I’m set for life.

“My help and glory are in God —–  granite-strength and safe-harbor-God —–  So trust him absolutely, people; lay your lives on the line for him.  God is a safe place to be.

“Man as such is smoke, woman as such, a mirage.  Put them together, they’re nothing; two times nothing is nothing.

“And a windfall, if it comes —–  don’t make too much of it.

God said this once and for all; how many times have I heard it repeated?  “Strength comes straight from God.”

“Love to you, Lord God!  You pay a fair wage for a good day’s work!”


     THE MESSAGE REMIX:  The Bible In Contemporary Language   Copyright © 2003 by Eugene H. Peterson.  All rights reserved.  Scripture taken from THE MESSAGE.  Copyright ©1993, 1994, 1996, 2000, 2001, 2002.  Used by permission of NavPress Publishing Group.

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100-Word Stroll for 4/21/17: 86ing THE GUESSWORK GROOVE

Psalm 62:8 says it:  “So trust Him absolutely, people; lay your lives on the line for Him.  God is a safe place to be.”

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The Resurrection of Jesus guarantees that for the Christian there’s no such thing as NEVER.  No guesswork groove.  Hope exists right in the face of human hopelessness . . .

Jesus died.  They buried Him.  But He’s alive.  Those are facts, validated by more eyewitnesses than the fabricated ‘news’ major media foist off on us all and expect us to believe.  No.  Do your own homework; it’ll mean more when you read it for yourself.  Hint:  500.  And Jesus wasn’t the only one. 

Christian friend, I know it’s tempting.  Don’t you dare keep thinking NEVER, NOT HAPPENING, HOPELESS.  I don’t care how things look, nor how often people have let you down.  God takes guesswork off the table.  You can depend on Him.

From The Easter Experience small group study:  “If a man walks out of his own grave, then he’s who he says he is–and everything he says has to be true.”  Well, yeah.  I’d say we’d all have to be doofus-qualified to see men and women all around us, living solid lives in daily relationship with the risen Jesus, and still conclude it’s all a silly fable.

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Might that be why Jesus’s name packs so much power?  Why folks get enraged the minute His name is mentioned?  I think so.  When He left the funeral suit draped over the casket and walked out of Joe’s mausoleum, Jesus permanently took the guesswork out of our groove.

You can’t always see what He’s doing.  But you can bank on the fact He’s gettin’ it done – in ways you’d never dream possible.

© D. Dean Boone, April 2017


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Titles need to reach out and grab you.

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Either they need to be jazzed-cool enough so you feel awkward if you don’t read after them.  Or they need to be so pointed, even edgy, that they sink puppy teeth into your thoughts.

You’re still reading, so this one must be just weird enough that it works.

I always have a notebook handy.  Not just any notebook, either.  I use steno books with oversized wire bindings so a pen will easily slide into them and clip there.  A blank notebook without a pen is criminal.  Finding one a third full of a writer’s mental rabbit trails and muggings of brief clarity and insight minus a ready pen is an unfathomable pinheadery.

Introversion often courts perfectionism.  That’s a challenge, like ordering someone else’s two-year-old around.

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An idea struck.  I reached for the nearest pad, and to my horror I saw that the top page, though blank, was creased.  Folded.  Spindled and mutilated.  And diagonally!

  • “You can’t possibly hope to form anything trenchant on creased paper.  Graceless and boorish.  One cannot create on a tarnished, sullied page.  Tear it out.”

A few of you are smiling, recognizing 2, the second of my writer’s imaginary personalities.  Every writer has them; don’t let them kid you.  Mine happen to be well-developed enough that I sometimes include them as I write.  Now you’ll need to start reading in the 2nd Cup archives to find them.  That’s a good thing.  I don’t write junk.

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Were I to allow him and 1 to indulge in their normal spirited arguing, my first abrupt, rude, unpolished writing personality would be strenuous in his point:  A blank page beckons.  Creased or smudged, it cries out for ink, for it’s real and unpretentious, like a favorite pair of old socks.  Real words.  Honest thoughts.

Upon further review, how can I not respond?   I’ve an affinity with that page.

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I, too, am creased.  Scarred.  I don’t write from pristine, snowy, showy places.  My soul is seamed and scraped from life as it’s really lived.  I write from the creased and bruising paths I’ve walked.  I’m a survivor, an overcomer.  It’s my hope and desire that these posts, from which books will one day derive, will speak to you—touching your heart.  Connecting with your spirit.

The goal?  It’s the same as when we first shared our 2nd Cup of Coffee all those years ago:  to lift, encourage, edify and challenge each reader to personal and spiritual excellence.

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Here’s to all the other creased pages out there.  Smooth it out and keep creating everything God has opened before you.  And thanks for letting me assist you.

Ed. note:  I’m having some issues with accessing my WordPress email,  Until I get it straightened out, you can contact me at  Thanks, everyone.

© D. Dean Boone, April 2017





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Q(uiet) T(ime) M(using)s for 4/17/17: THE LOST ART OF ____________

The person who won’t think is worse than the one who can’t.  One who for some reason cannot think has no choice.  But one who can think but decides not to?

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You’re with me.  The ability to reason, like anything else, can atrophy from disuse.  Know anybody whose thoughts and opinions are the same year in and year out?  Just as stale and worn smooth as ever?  It’s the sign of a man who’s stopped doing any fresh thinking.  It indicates a woman who’s decided she knows and has closed and locked her mind’s gate.  Love those people, and honestly pray for them.  Do not hang with them.  Deadened, atrophied reason is catching.

Reason is the ability to critically and constructively think something through and form judgments to reach a logical conclusion.  It is to apply what one is learning to what is already known.

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To think is to grow.  Proverbs 15:24 says that “life ascends to the heights for the thoughtful”.  Using what you know to help you seek and understand what you don’t know is the way to remain in an upward-spiraling, ever-expanding orbit of growth.

You don’t need a formal classroom nor more degrees.  Virtually any information on any subject, at any level, is yours if you make the effort to learn about it.

Flip that switch to “ON”!

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Access to the Internet is available to anyone with a smartphone, iPad, or any other device.  The only believable excuse for not learning more is that you’ve decided to stop thinking for yourself.  With a mind as sharp as yours, that would be a tragedy!

I encourage you:  Be being a thinker, a reasoner, a taker of notes and one who meditates and ponders.  Not only will you be constantly knowing more; you’ll be positioning yourself in the top 5% of every group in which you find yourself.

© D. Dean Boone, April 2017


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100-Word Stroll, 4/17/17: “EXCUSE ME, BUT . . .”

You’ve noticed “100-Word Strolls” are rarely ever 100 words.  Good.  Grab your joe and walk with me . . .

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The 100-Word part is to remind me:  writers overflow with words.  Readers take one look at that little “673 more words” on a Facebook post, and go, “Um–maybe later.”  You and I know “Maybe later” almost always means, “Nope.”

Only another writer understands how much effort is poured into any written work.  There are exceptions; but most Facebook articles take hours to draft, edit and finish.

I’d like you to routinely read my work.  It’s on me, then, to keep it short and sweet.


Ed. note:  You just read exactly 100 words.  Wasn’t much, was it?  That’s why our 100-Word Strolls together aren’t primarily 100 words.  They’re intended to be pithy, thought-full little bits of discourse long enough to be worthwhile, yet short enough that you’ll look forward to the next one.  So–whether the title is QTMs, 2nd Cup or a Stroll together, I’m working to keep my posts useful and readable.  Granger stories?  Those can be of any length, and you never know when one will appear.  I work to keep them varied and interesting enough to make you always want more–and you know they always have just the right touch of the mystically Divine . . . 

For those patiently waiting as I continue work on the book about my miraculous healing journey, thank you for your prayerful encouragement.  I love being a writer, and this book is the most challenging task I’ve yet undertaken. 

© D. Dean Boone, April 2017

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